Jim's letters
by Neiraaa
Summary: Three letters written by Jim Moriarty, from age of five until he became the man we know him to be. Rating will change with chapters.
1. Chapter 1

Sadly, I still don't own anything but my writing.

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Dear Santa

Thank you for the socks and the colouring book you brought me last year. I understand that you couldn't give me the science kit I asked for. It's ok. I'm not mad. Good things come to those who wait.

I was a good boy this year. I really was. My teacher said I was the best in my class. Look, I'm even writing you this letter to you all by myself. I cleaned my room (while I still had one) and did all my chores on time. I even helped Mrs. Johnson across the street. If that doesn't make me a good boy, I'm not sure what will.

This year, I just want one thing. I know this one is hard to find, but, given that you've been ignoring my letters for the past few years, I think I deserve it.

You see, mommy is very sick. I'm not old enough to understand what's really wrong with her and no one wants to tell me. I think she only has months to live. Please, please, dear Santa, make her feel better. She's my only friend. Dad is really mean all the time. I think he's afraid of me. I don't know why. Mum said that I was too smart for my own good. He lost his job and now we live in his old house, in England. I don't like it here. The walls are mouldy and everything smells old. All the kids at school make fun of me because of my accent. But, when mum gets better, things will change. I know it. She will make dad stop being mean to me. If you help her, I promise I'll be a good boy for the rest of my life. I will never do bad things, ever. Just make her feel better.

I told her I will ask you for this, but she said that I was being silly, wasting my wish on something you couldn't fix, but she also told me that good people get rewarded in life. I'm a good boy and she's a good woman. I pray to God too, but he works in mysterious ways. I was hoping to have my wish fulfilled directly.

So, if you help my mum, I will never ask you for a single thing for the rest of my life. I will be the best boy the world has ever seen. Please, Santa, help us. I'm begging you.

Sincerely yours

Jimmy Moriarty, age 5

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Reviews are welcomed. Second letter will be up soon.


	2. Chapter 2

Trigger warning: Contains mentions of child abuse, both physical and sexual and a considerable amount of angst.

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Dear mom

Hey, it's Jim. Today it's the tenth anniversary of your death. I though I should give you a bit of an update. I know you said you'll be watching us for the heaven, but you also said that you will keep me safe and won't let anyone hurt me, and that didn't turn out so good. Maybe you are still settling down, up there.

Dad is still unemployed. I think he stopped looking for a job long time ago. Now all he does all day is look for the bottom of a vodka bottle. He never got over your death. Neither did I, for that matter, but someone had to take care of me and it looks like it won't be him. Every now and then, when I'm unlucky enough to be awake after he comes home from his drunken voyages, he beats the living shit out of me (pardon my adult language, I think I earned the privilege of using it the first time I had to sell my toys to find money to buy us food). The next day, he regrets it deeply. He said he did it because of how much I remind him of you and he's mad at you for leaving us. But, it's ok. You said that everything is part of some grand plan and I just have to wait and see what happens. Please, tell the big guy who runs the Heaven that I'm almost done with waiting. I can't take it for much longer.

You told me to be a good boy and I listened to you. I'm still by far the best student in the whole school. I went to the city competition in math and I won. Sadly, I didn't have the money to got to the big one, in London, because I had to use the prize I won in the last one to pay Dad's debt before Big Johnny O'Hare broke both of his legs.

Kids at school are mean to me, but I'm getting more and more used to the nickname Smelly Jimmy. You see, one month they cut our electricity and water so I couldn't wash my clothing for weeks. I eventually sold your golden locked to pay the bills, but the nickname stuck. At least that what I told dad.

You and I both know that there was no golden locked to be sold. It turns out that Big Johnny O'Hare has a thing for young boys and is willing to pay a decent amount of money. The first time was the worst, but at least now, all our bills are played for. He likes me. More than the other boys he has. I'm skinnier and smaller than them. He likes that. Sorry if I disappointed you, but that was the only way. Your only son is a pathetic little rent boy.

I only slipped once. They were laughing at me, mom, all the time. I don't know why. I never did anything wrong to them. Carl Powers was their leader and he found out about me and O'Hare. He was going to tell everyone. I couldn't take it anymore. He was laughing at me, so I stopped him from laughing. He will never laugh again. For a few months, they were quiet. The only sound was the sound of their sorrow. It didn't last for long. Now they are laughing again and they will never stop.

I'm trying so hard mom, I really am. You said that good things come to those who wait, but I'm getting really tired of waiting. It's been five years. Five miserable years. How much longer? I'm tired of being a good boy when half of my life has been one gigantic nightmare. Why are you letting this happen to me?

I'm fifteen and yet I feel like an old man. Please mom, send me a sign. Tell me I'm on the right path.

You told me once that I should be on the side of the angels. Like in the fairy tales, if I work hard enough everything will be fine. My dreams would come true. Well, I'm not buying that crap anymore. Your god and your angels you kept blabbing about seem more like a lie every day of this hell I call life.

I'm just tired, mom. I really am. This isn't the life either of us wanted for me. I will try your way as long as I can. When I snap, don't act all surprised up in that cloud of yours. You were the one who left me here, in the hands of a drunk man who never wanted me. You should have taken care of me, and you failed. I'm not happy and I am not safe. Not since the day you died. Help me. Find a way to make it better.

But you can't read this. You're in a jar under my bed. I hid your ashes here so dad couldn't find them and destroy the last evidence of your existence. You are gone and I am truly and completely alone.


End file.
